


Mexican Mementos

by nimrod262



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Fanfic, Gym fight, M/M, Mementos, Mexico, Nivanfield, One-off, Policia Federal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 23:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6630799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimrod262/pseuds/nimrod262
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone had mementos after they returned from Mexico. Victor had his sketches, Tom had a broken nose and Piers, apart from the black eye, came back with someone he'd lost, himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mexican Mementos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fonseca_V](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fonseca_V/gifts).



> This one-off is gifted to my good friend, fellow Nivanfield writer and artist, FonsecaV.
> 
> Fonseca complained that in their last adventure together, his alter-ego didn’t get to kiss Piers Nivans. That was enough to inspire this story. I hope it makes up for my previous omission! :))

 

_**Mexican Mementos** _

 

2017, Ciudad Juarez, Mexico: The black Mercedes of the Policía Federal, the PF, drove slowly through the street, circumventing the abandoned cars and the sleeping dogs with equal dexterity. It pulled up outside the apartment block. The driver, a thick-set, heavily stubbled and heavily armed Cabo from the Division de Inteligencia, resplendent in his dress uniform, got out and looked around and then up at the building. Satisfied all was clear, he opened the rear door and saluted.

An officer of the BSAA, in blue No. 1 uniform got out with the aid of a stick. He was a Captain, and on his left breast were two light blue service ribbons, each with 5 white stars. He was a double Medal of Honour recipient. He was assisted out of the car by a young BSAA Corporal, also in No. 1's, who had been sat next to the driver. An equally young Oficial of the PF got out last of all. He exchanged words with the Cabo, who remained by the car; then he ushered the two BSSA soldiers towards the entrance. Their arrival had not gone unnoticed. Three young prostitutes, sunning themselves on their fourth floor balcony looked down on the street and whistled appreciatively.

"Hola guapos! Que tal? Tenemos un buen precio para los millitares!"

Corporal 'Tom' Thomas looked up in the direction of the calls and waved back.

"Oh, es tan guapo!" said one of the girls. "Vamos arriba soldado!" said another.

"Ahem, Corporal, we are on official business." The voice was commanding, but the hazel eyes twinkled.

"I'm sorry Captain, er, Director, um, Sir, I never know what to call you nowadays."

"Captain will be fine Tom, no need to attract more attention than we have already."

The whistles and calls of the girls had already caught the interest of their pimp, who came scurrying out to the balcony.

"Dios! Las Federales! Joder, is it a raid?"

The young Oficial looked up and grinned. "Don't worry Pimpi, not today. Tomorrow perhaps. Go back to sleep now!"

The lift was out of action, as it had been for several years, so the three men took to the stairs. As they climbed towards the third floor, Tom noted how the Captain didn't really rely on his stick at all. His step was easy, light as ever, showing no signs of the injury he'd received almost a year ago. Tom figured the stick had become an accessory rather than a need. A means of adding gravitas to the image of the youngest Director in the BSAA. But Tom had learnt to keep his opinions to himself. He was, after all, one of the youngest Corporals in the BSAA. So much had happened to the organisation in the last twelve months. The budget cuts, or 'The Peace Dividend' as the pharmaceutical sponsors preferred to call it. And the new Director's resulting decision to close the Washington offices in order to save money. Now everything ran from the base in Pennsylvania. And since things had quietened down a lot, there was time to attend to the myriad of matters that had been let go before. This visit to Ciudad Juarez was one of them.

The Oficial knocked on the door. It was opened by a harassed looking woman, in her mid-forties perhaps. Smartly dressed, in a blue skirt and red blouse, her black hair swept up into a bun. But she looked more than surprised as she opened the door, she look frightened. "Is it my Victor? Is he in trouble?"

"Señora Hugo? My name is Carlos Sanchez, Oficial in the Policía Federal. Don't worry, your son is not in trouble, these gentlemen would like to meet him, they are . . . old friends of his." He smiled reassuringly. "Is Victor here?"

"No Señor, he is out," she looked at her wristwatch, "He will be in that gymnasium, _El Canelo's_. If he's not in college, he's working, and if he's not working, he's in the gym. I never see him myself these days. What is this about? Are you sure he's not in trouble? There are some rough boys in that gym, I don't like it!"

"I assure you Señora Hugo, it is purely a friendly visit. _El Canelo's_ you say? I know it, our famous boxer. We will try there. I am sorry to have troubled you. Good day to you Señora." Carlos saluted smartly. Maria Hugo watched them opened mouthed as they went back down the corridor. As did all her neighbours, who just 'happened' to be out by their front doors at the same time.

"It is not far Capitán Director, it is a boxing gym as well as for fitness. Saul "Canelo" Alvarez is a very famous champion in Mexico."

Piers Nivans smiled. "Strange, the Victor I met was an artist, a romantic, I wouldn't have expected to find him in a gym."

"Perhaps he was impressed by meeting you Captain." Tom said brightly, "Perhaps . . ." Piers rolled his eyes, ever so slightly, and Tom trailed off into an embarrassed, blushing silence.

************************

"Here we are.” said Carlos. “Diego, go in and explain to them they have some visitors, on personal business. We don't won't to start any trouble, OK? Then stay by the car." He turned to Piers and smiled. "This neighbourhood is not too keen on the Federales Capitán, you understand?"

Piers nodded. "Perfectly. It seems uniforms are not very popular anywhere these days."

As they went in, an uneasy silence settled over the gym. Two boxing rings occupied the centre of the floor, surrounded on three sides by gym equipment, benches, single and multi training apparatus. An instructor pointed to a young man doing a bench-press workout, his thick black hair was damp with sweat as he puffed out and then sucked in air in time to the exercise. As he extended his arms and raised the bar, he suddenly found the weight taken from him as someone above put the bar back onto the rack.

"Joder! que pasa?"

"Hello Victor, remember me?" A face looked down on him, but it was upside down. Victor wasn't sure if it was smiling or angry. Was this another practical joke by the local bullies who made everyone's life a misery in the gym? Victor sat up, wiping the sweat from his eyes and glared at the handsome face. His brows furrowed as his sad brown eyes took in the face opposite him. The full lips were a little more tighter perhaps, the eyes now lined and there was the odd fleck of grey amongst the brown hair of his temples. Then Victor grinned in recollection. He was an artist, he never forgot any face he'd sketched.

"Capitán, Capitán Nivans? It's you? I never expected to see you again what are you doing here?" Then a look of concern, "We're . . . we're not in danger are we?"

Piers grinned, "No Victor, you're quite safe. I said we'd be in touch, I'm sorry it's taken me so long, been kinda' busy."

"Yes Capitán, I heard some things on the news, but I was told to keep quiet about El Valle, so I have never discussed such things, ever, not even with my family. My grandmother is still cross with me for not visiting that day!"

Piers laughed, "Oh, I'm forgetting, this is Corporal Thomas, Tom. Remember the soldier I thought was dead? Well, he's another BSAA man back from the grave." Tom shook Victor's hand.

"Pleased to meet you Victor. Here, I've got something of yours." Tom put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a camera phone.

"Oh, you found it! Ha, ha, I never expected to see it again, thank you so much!"

Tom grinned. "It was a bit battered when I picked it up, but it probably saved my life. I, er we, got the manufacturers to repair it, it's good as new now."

"Can we talk Victor?” asked Piers, “Somewhere less public perhaps?"

"That would be nice, I have so many questions for you." said Victor, "I'll go and change."

By now they had attracted a crowd of inquisitive onlookers. A large, well-muscled youth with a sourly face pushed his way through the others and stared at Victor.

"So, Marica, new friends eh? They don't look much to me, take away those uniforms and all you've got is more assholes."

"Shut up Ramon, these are brave men, something you wouldn't understand, just like all the other things you don't understand. At least I work hard to get my muscles, I don't find them in pills and injections."

"Puta!" Ramon was obviously itching for a fight.

"That's enough!" On the spur of the moment Piers decided to give him one. He wasn't exactly sure why. ‘Christ, I'm turning into a Chris Redfield!’ he thought to himself.

He looked enquiringly at Tom, who hesitated for a moment, weighing up his response. ‘He's the Director of the BSAA, Tom thought, ‘Getting into a gym fight is probably not a good idea.’ But he wanted to see the old Piers back again, as did a lot of BSAA personnel. So Tom grinned and nodded in acceptance. "Good idea Captain!"

"You, Ramon, put your money where your fat ugly mouth is, in the ring, now. You and one of your friends, if you have any, against Tom and me, anything goes, fists, feet, knees or elbows"

"And me." said Victor, "This is my fight too Capitán, someone has to stand up to them."

Piers looked at Victor. "Good man, the warrior artist!" He turned and looked at Ramon. "Three on three then. Deal big man?"

"Si, it will be my pleasure American. You are dead meat already!"

Piers looked at the Oficial. "Don't worry Carlos, I take full responsibility. Can you ask that instructor if we can borrow some shorts? We don't need anything else."

"Si, Capitán, but you are Director, it is not seemly, you are a guest in my country. Dios, este una mierda!"

Piers grinned. "Then join Diego in the car, that way you won't see anything, it'll be strictly unofficial."

The instructor handed Piers and Tom some shorts and pointed towards the far end of the gym. Victor went with them to show them the way. He noticed the walking stick, so had Ramon.

"Capitán, you have a bad leg? You should not be fighting like this. I will speak with Ramon."

Piers turned around. "No Victor, there's only one way to deal with people like Ramon and his goons. If they are not stopped early enough, they go on making everyone else's lives a misery. You said it yourself, someone has to stand up to them. Don't worry, Tom and I will handle it."

"But, I must fight too, for my honour, as a Hugo, it is my duty Señor."

Piers smiled and put his hand on Victor's shoulder. "I understand, but take your cue from us. Don't go charging in, or you'll hurt yourself, OK?"

Victor watched them change and warm up, he memorised every detail.

************************

The largest ring was surrounded by onlookers when they came out, most were shouting for Ramon, but some were calling Victor's surname. "Hooogo, Hooogo!" The instructors watched with silent, professional interest. It wasn't everyday they had such unusual visitors. And they certainly both looked fit, more wiry and lean rather than overly muscled like Ramon and his mates. Money passed hands silently, but the odds remained firmly in favour of the local men.

Ramon and his two friends were of a kind, big pecs, big guns, but thin legs, and probably small brains. Their physique was only designed for show. Chris would have outdone them all, thought Piers, but with him it was the whole package. Although he'd bulked up to fight Wesker, he remained in relative proportion, and he certainly wasn't dumb, well, not all the time! These guys would be more at home posing on a stage rather than fighting in a ring. Piers, Tom and Victor finished the warm-up routines they'd already started in the locker room. Ramon and his cronies just strutted about, whipping up applause. The senior instructor joined them in the ring, checked them over for items of jewellery; and reminded them there to was be no biting, gouging of the eyes or attacks on the genitals. As referee, he would also decide if any fighter was no longer capable of carrying on.

"Remember Victor, follow us. And go for their legs, it's their weakest spot."

Ramon and his friends went for Victor first. He was the target of Ramon's hatred. One of the men grabbed Victor's arms as Ramon delivered a powerful blow to his solar plexus. As the air exploded out of his guts, Victor dropped to his knees, badly winded. Next they ganged up on Tom. But one moment he was in front of them, and then he was nowhere to be seen. He'd neatly back flipped over Ramon and delivered an accurate and telling chop to one goon's carotid artery. The man fell face down, unconscious, breaking his nose on impact with the canvas.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" said Piers, parrying a blow from Ramon with his forearm, and getting in two lightning quick jabs in return.

"From Captain Redfield, who else?" As Piers turned to grin at Tom, Ramon dealt a lucky blow, his fist connected with Piers face; just under his left eye. "Shit!" Piers spun back onto the ropes.

Tom launched himself sideways and delivered a foot strike to the side of Ramon's knee, he went down screaming. Victor, having recovered his breath, saw the third man lumber towards Piers who was still looking stunned. 'Go for their legs' they'd said, so he copied Tom's move. There was a sharp cracking sound, and the man fell clutching his right leg. Now back on his feet, Ramon moved on Piers, he swung his right arm back to deliver a haymaker. But Tom grabbed his wrist from behind and twisted hard. "Quick Victor, use that foot again!" he yelled, but not soon enough to stop Ramon back-handing him with his other hand. Tom felt his nose break and the blood trickle into his mouth, but he held his grasp. "Now!"

Victor raised his right leg, pirouetting on his left, his right heel impacted with full force on Ramon's chin. Ramon's head jerked sideways, his jaw hanging limply, spewing blood and teeth, then he crashed to the floor, folding up like a sack of potatoes. Victor fell too; clutching his foot and biting back the scream that welled up in his throat. But he'd seen the blood and teeth, he knew he'd won.

"Bravo, Bravo! Ole, Ole!" Carlos and Diego were front of the onlookers and shouting the loudest, having first removed their caps and uniform jackets of course. Now they were officially no longer 'officially' at work! Everyone was in the queue to slap the victor's backs as they climbed out of the ring. Suddenly Victor and his friends were everyone else's friends too. Ramon, now he was unconscious, had become Mr Unpopular.

As the three friends made their way back to the locker room, Victor realised his foot was broken. Piers offered him his arm and shoulder as support on one side, whilst Tom supported the other. Victor could feel the heat and smell the sweat from his two friends. It was strangely comforting. Somehow, at that moment, a busted foot all seemed worth it.

Three bruised and bloodied bodies lay slumped in the ring, almost forgotten. Apart from the Referee that was, he was just about to throw a bucket of water over them. But it would prove to be a good thing for Ramon and his 'friends'. The first day of a future life where they would no longer be the centre of attention.

************************

Their first port of call on leaving the gym was the nearest hospital, an ice-pack for Piers, a nose-splint for Tom and a light foot-cast for Victor following an x-ray. Whilst he was treated, he found time to sketch, but he wouldn't show the others.

The second port of call was a shopping mall. "Stop!" Piers shouted when he saw it, tapping Diego's shoulder and pointing.

"Que? Que pasa Capitán?

"We can't take Victor home like this and not get some flowers and chocolates for his mother. We might have taken Ramon down, but I'm not fighting an angry Mexican mum . . !" Which was just as well, all things considered. It took a long time to calm Maria Hugo down, and she had not exhausted her supply of colourful Spanish and American phrases even then! Piers' tried his best, the full-on smile, but with a black eye he looked more like a grinning pirate. Victor tried unsuccessfully to placate his mother too, whilst Tom wisely decided to remain silent. Which is why he was the only one to be offered a chocolate.

Later, as they got back into the car, Piers searched for his walking stick.

"I gave it to Victor." said Tom, "You don't need it. He does."

Piers' eyes blazed with indignation. "You don't need it _what_? soldier!"

"You don't need it . . . _anymore_ , Sir. You're Piers Nivans, you don't need a prop to lend you gravitas, or add maturity. The name says it all Captain. With respect, sometimes you forget who you are."

Piers wasn't often left lost for words. It was a far harder smack in the face than he'd received from Ramon. As he calculated the options for a stinging rebuke, he realised he hadn't needed the stick all afternoon, that he'd actually enjoyed the day, even the fight, because he'd let go the persona of the responsible Director that he'd adopted. Damnit, Tom was right.

"Do you enjoy being a Corporal?" Piers put on his best poker face.

"Y, yes Captain, still getting used to it. I, I'm sorry I . . ."

"Spoke out of turn? Misappropriated BSAA property?"

Tom looked absolutely crestfallen.

"Well, carry on like that and you won't be a Corporal for long!"

Tom stood stiffly to attention. "It won't happen again Sir."

"On the contrary, I expect you to continue to give me good advice. How else will you make Sergeant?" Piers broke into laughter. "Ha, ha, your face Tom. I'm sorry too, for being such a pompous ass. C'mon, let's go back to the hotel and get out of these damned uniforms, dinner's on me tonight!"

"You sound just like Captain Redfield."

"And that's?"

"A good thing . . . Sir."

************************

They met up with Victor the next day, he'd taken the morning off work to accompany then back to the airport. Carlos spoke to airport security and they were ushered into one of the small VIP departure rooms to give them some privacy.

Tom handed Piers a slim briefcase.

"In all the excitement yesterday, I forgot to give you these Victor. Your sketches."

Piers took them out of the case. Initially they had been stamped TOP SECRET - HUMINT in red ink, But then over-stamped at some point later in black, DECLASSIFIED, and a date. Victor looked at them in amazement. "Quite a memento, eh?" said Piers.

Victor smiled, "I never thought I'd see them again. Oh, but I have something for you also." He took out two sketches from his satchel. He handed one to Piers and the other to Tom. "I drew these whilst I was having my foot seen to. I hope you like them."

Both Tom and Piers raised their eyebrows at the same time.

"Er, you certainly have an eye for detail." said Piers.

"Yes, too much." said Tom blushing, "Couldn't you have drawn some clothes on us?"

Victor laughed. "Ha, ha, my first life-class subjects. When I am a famous artist, you will be famous too!"

"Well, I'm sorry, but we've got to go Victor. I have to say, every time I meet you it's an experience! Good luck with college, and keep in touch." Piers shook Victor's hand warmly, as did Tom.

"Thanks for the loan of your phone, look after yourself."

Victor watched them leave, then he called out. "Oh, Capitán!"

Piers stopped and turned around just as Victor ran up to him. "I didn't get to say thank you properly last time we were here. You were so sad because you thought you had lost your friend." He held Piers' head and kissed him on the lips, then he hugged him and kissed him again. " Gracias Capitán, por todo. Me salvaste la vida en ese entonces, y ayer guardó respeto por mí mismo. Mantener a salvo, siempre."

************************

Chris was sat with Ruff watching TV when Piers returned to the Deuce of Hearts.

As Piers dumped his case in the hall, Chris came up and gave him a welcoming hug. "Whad’ya' bring me back from Mexico Boss? Tequila? Tacos?"

Piers grinned. "Well apart from the black eye, I got this." He pulled out the sketch.

"Ha, ha! Well Victor certainly caught your, er, likeness." said Chris as he held the picture this way and that. "Hey, is that a locker room?"

"Hmm, you should see the one of Tom!"

"So, you got a black eye and Tom got a broken nose . . ."

"How'd you know that?"

"I'm your Operations Director, it's my job to know."

Piers rolled his eyes, "Ouch, it still hurts!" he said.

"Aww, let's have a look." said Chris, holding Piers' face close to his own. "Nice . . . Do you wanna' steak on that? Ha ha ha!"

Piers pouted. "You just can't get the staff these days . . ."

 

**Author's Note:**

> "Gracias Capitán, por todo. Me salvaste la vida en ese entonces, y ayer guardó respeto por mí mismo. Mantener a salvo, siempre."
> 
> "Thank you Captain, for everything. You saved my life back then, and yesterday you saved my self-respect. Keep safe, always."


End file.
